Eating alone...

Perhaps I'm just an anomaly (it certainly wouldn't be the first time), but I definitely don't fit the profile of the eaters described within The Onus of Oneness. I couldn't be more comfortable eating alone, whether in private or in public. I've probably gone out to eat by myself well over two hundred times. I'm great company. I really do keep myself entertained. There's always plenty to think about. Besides, I usually have something to read or listen to. Plus, when I'm at home, I have my blessed TV. And what company could compete with that holiest of household devices? And when by myself, there's never a need to worry about table manners or lack thereof. I'm free to engage in eating habits that make the Medieval Times restaurant look sophisticated. So no, I definitely don't mind eating by myself. In fact, I rather prefer it.

Recently I've been thinking that the issue isn't so much one of needing people around to eat with, but rather needing food to be around people. What people are really afraid of is just sitting and talking to each other! We need some context to make it appropriate. So we hide behind our food. Asking someone for a conversation is awkward...so we just ask them out to dinner. In a way, it's a kind of multi-tasking as well. I have to eat so I might as well take care of the socializing while I'm at it. Or maybe it's the other way around. Some people even talk while engaging in another physiological necessity: going to the bathroom. Thank goodness there aren't formal invitations for that (yet).

A shared activity does seem to help, though. Maybe it's something about diverting your focus or breaking the tension. Personally, I've found that my best conversations come while playing ping-pong, billiards, or shooting some hoops. These are more dynamic activities, and they seem less monotonous and predictable than eating. But the same purpose, that of deeper connection and communication, is achieved.

As detailed in a previous post, my family was (much to my mother's chagrin) never able to partake in that grand tradition of family meal-time. Sure, my mom tried a couple of times, but it just wasn't gonna happen. The idea never really caught on with the rest of the family. Actually, you could say that even when we were together, we were still eating separately. TVs, books, newspapers...they took the center stage. Family be damned. So I guess I learned early that you don't need company to enjoy your food. They might even get in the way (especially if it's my family).

Reflection on the reading...

Chapter 3 of Speaking Culturally, "Cultural Dimensions of Discourse," certainly stimulated some thought on a variety of topics. In fact, anytime I come across the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis I begin to ponder its implications. How much does language truly influence our thought processes? Am I aware of phenomena for which I don't have any language? Is there anything we can do to mitigate its effects? Would we even want to do that? The questions are endless. When viewed from a sociological perspective, it almost seems like language and culture "stain" a person. They become "tainted" by their original upbringing. Much like learning a first language, absorption of the culture around us seems to happen without effort or resistance...unconsciously. Maybe we're even born with a "culture acquisition device." And later on in life, our earliest paradigm still serves as a back-drop for future evaluations and judgements, even when we'd prefer that it didn't. It seems to take a tremendous amount of determination, awareness, and diligence to do away with these early formative experiences. Even when you rebel, or join the "counter-culture" (whatever that might be), you're still influenced by those early notions of culture since that is precisely what you're rebelling against. It's not unlike learning a foreign language (as an adult -- past the critical period). You're earliest attempts always involve relating the new language to the old. Each word and concept needs to be mentally translated back into the first language. I wonder if, much like some authors have speculated that having many different words for various shades of color gives a person the opportunity to make finer distinctions, being able to speak many different languages can give you more "material," and a greater number of perspectives from which to view things.

It's funny how different languages can have a single word for a concept that might need a few sentences of words within a different tongue, and still not achieve the same effect. I encountered this firsthand on a Zen contemplation retreat known as a Sesshin. When discussing a word like the Mandarin "Tao," it means so much more than just "the way" or "the path." Entire books have been written on trying to explain such concepts in English and vice-versa.

The information on the Universal vs. Romantic paradigms of culture and language were also rather intriguing. I didn't realize that the Universal perspective was still espoused within academic circles. Those kind of black and white comparisons always amuse me, since sooner or later someone tries to bring them together into a solution that's "gray." It sort of reminds me of the old rationalism vs. empiricism debate.

It'll be interesting to find ways in which the language influences food and tastes. Since food is such an important factor within culture and language "both symbolizes and creates culture" (Johnson, 2000), there's bound to be a great deal of carryover into this course.

Carlin on the Lingo of Food Advertising...

The late stand-up comedian/writer George Carlin used to poke fun of many linguistic conventions. In his 2004 book, When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?, he discussed some of the absurdities of the lingo involved with food advertisements. A piece of that work is posted on the forum of this website, with many other people contributing some of their own thoughts on the "most overused dining and food-related terms." Scroll down the page until you see red font to find Carlin's remarks.

Warning: some "adult" language/content

http://www.stltoday.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=8129028&sid=771fc8e59e4f107ebe87f7575b96da55

The Language of Food: My Background in Eating and Why I've Enrolled

As a linguistics major and cognitive science minor, The Language of Food was certainly not a mandatory part of the curriculum. However, this course appealed to me on another level. My relationship to food has often been somewhat ambivalent. While I've always enjoyed certain dishes more than others, the issue of eating as enjoyment is relatively new. I grew up as an athlete. Nutrition was a passion of mine. Notice, though, that I said "nutrition" and not "food." Food was merely fuel for the machine that was my body. It's nutritional constitution was the essential component. Flavor was just a pleasant bonus. It was not unusual for me to just grill a steak, chicken breast, or salmon, without any spices, sauces, or fancy preparation. Just grill it, plop it down on the plate, and I was ready to chow down. And I had no problem just peeling off each leaf of lettuce and eating it alone...no fancy salad needed. My palate was remarkably unsophisticated. Recently I was debating whether, given the hypothetical choice, I would have an operation to make eating unnecessary. I might actually opt for that imaginary surgery...an outcome that many of my friends would rather die than face. I'm just not that attached to food. I like it...but it doesn't particularly matter all too much.

My parents are on opposite sides of the spectrum concerning food relationships. My mother, of Irish Catholic background, will get angry when faced with hunger. On the other hand, my father, coming from a Russian Orthodox Jewish family, will often simply forget to eat. It's usually the last thing on his mind. He'd also be pleased to eat nothing but cereal for quite a while. I always thought this odd, since food is so important to his side of the family. In fact, my earliest recollections of those relatives were of them urging me to eat, despite the fact that I absolutely abhorred their food. Being thin was practically a crime in that household. Someone once told me that their distaste for the skinny body-type and a finicky appetite was a reaction to the holocaust.

Many people use meal time to converse. My mother always wished that our family would do the same. Sadly, she was faced with too much resistance. My sister, when present (and she rarely was), would read. My father and I wanted to watch sports, leaving my mom to carry on a conversation by herself. Obviously, there wasn't much formality to these family gatherings. To say that I have some rather odd eating habits because of this would be an understatement. I've accumulated a long list of peculiar idiosyncrasies over a lifetime of eating by myself in front of my beloved TV.

These days I've started to expand my flavor horizons and broaden my food choices. Perhaps this class will provide some food for thought. Still, my earlier ambivalence towards food and familial communication didn't mean that I wasn't capable of recognizing the universal connection between these two passions. In fact, even the aforementioned paradigm of "food as fuel" has its own distinct vocabulary, customs, and pragmatic variations. Whether through metaphors, idioms, or the social communication practices of different cultures, there's simply no escaping the conclusion that language affects food and food affects language.